Without a Faction
by T.j.98
Summary: Lucas Danton is by birth factionless. This means that he is one of the shunned, the despised, the outcast, the untouchable, and the oppressed. A life of misery has built up within him a deep-seated hatred for for the Factions, especially the Dauntless. Within him is also a desire for freedom. Will he get it?
1. Chapter 1: An unexpected surprise

"Hey, Wake up."

Thomas groans and pretends he can't hear me. But of corse, no matter how much he may try, neither of us can stop time. I begin shaking him by the arms, and he shoves me lightly away. He sits up on his 'bed' and his eyes blink reputedly in an attempt to dispel the sleepiness.

"Thomas, Wake up. We're gonna be late, come on."

In front of him I stand, a large man in his late twenties, his clothes filthy with dirt. My mangled mess of sandy hair is covered by a ripped eight panel hat. Thomas pushes himself up off the cardboard pile and reaches for his own ragged eight panel.

"Come on Lucas, lets get going. It's not like we have anything for breakfast anyway."

After saying that, he placed his eight panel over his curly red hair and followed me. We leave the tenant building, and begin the walk to our work. Neither of us needed to get dressed because we've both stopped changing before bed.

The tenant room we live in has others living here, many others. Six other families to be exact. As we left, we both saw ragged and sickly children who hadn't had a bath, we saw families huddled together for warmth, we saw a lot of dirt. Dirt and grime cover the walls and floor, trash is scattered around the corners. These are familiar sights, I got used to these conditions from living under them for twenty four years.

I am factionless, just like my parents, just like their parents. I am descended from a failed initiate, so it's not like I had much choice in the matter. I am what Faction folk call an outsider, an unwanted, a bad blooded, an untouchable. Essentially: I do not belong. I, like all my kind, am shunned and despised by the Factions. I haven't had a bath in longer than I can recall, I almost never eat three meals a day, I work in a grunt job, and might not live past thirty.

Thomas and I walk through the decayed and ruinous streets, we are headed to work. The sun won't be up for another hour, and it will be down before I begin to return home. Me and Thomas don't talk on our way, as there isn't anything that we don't already know about each other. It is often said that the factionless life in isolation; that claim is a lie spread by like lying liars who lie. While we might not have a coherent community, we still have friends and family. When the faction is gone, all that's left is blood. Thomas is my distant cousin, as well as my closest friend, and we've lived in that same tenant room since we were born in it.

We hop over a pot hole in the street, sure not to land in the open sewage duct at its bottom. We are about to round the corner when we hear something. Thomas reacts first, while my chest filling with terror. As Thomas frantically pulls me behind a dumpster at the mouth of an alley, he explains the situation to me.

"They're coming, we have to get to cover."

Once our backs are to the dumpster on the other side, we look over the side to see what's happening. Sure enough, eight black clad Dauntless youths prowl down the streets. Two are drunk, but its clear they all had alcohol in them. At least one is thirteen. The most frightening part is that three of them have handguns. I hope they arn't going to do what I fear they will.

A factionless boy, probably around six, has not yet noticed. Calling to him would alert the threat to our location, ending badly for us all. Me and Thomas both know the only reason Dauntless venture out this far from their caverns. I stop looking and rest my back against the cover.

"Well, well well. Look what we have here? Another factionless scum!"

"Huh?"

"You heard us, you little shit."

I can hear a kick, and then the sound of a six year old wimpering. When it's about to erupt into crying, I hear a punch being thrown. My stomach clenches, my blood boils with rage.

"That's just the start, you leach!"

I hear many more punches and kicks thrown, as well as the bawling and screaming of a six year old. There isn't anything I can do to help him. All I can do is close my eyes and hope they grow tired of abuse. I clasp my hands together in prayer, and recite the Hail Mary in my head, my heart is beating rapidly. The screaming and crying and beating goes on at most ten minutes.

"PLEASE STOP! I WANT MY MOMMY!"

"Shut up you prick, they'll hear us."

"Its not a big deal, he's just a factionless; nobody cares about their kind. And besides, we don't want this little shit running his mouth off."

No. No, he can't mean THAT. Does he? NO, don't think like that. But what if they ... STOP IT. There aren't going to, not again. They wouldn't do, would they? I have to do something, I have to stop them. I have to ...

"It's my turn, I get to do it."

"Okay Eric, here you go."

"PLEASE!"

BANG

All is quiet, my eyes are still closed. I feel as though I'm going to vomit, my skin is clammy, and I must be shaking horribly. I am drenched in sweat, it must have soaked through my coat. Soon, the sound of the assailants grows dim. We wait until they are gone, then we wait five minutes after that. Though every fiber of my body tells me to run away, I force myself up and follow Thomas towards the scene of the assault. I see a small, brown clothed mass in the street, I force each foot to step closer and closer. Soon I can make out the details of a six year old boy, lying face down in a red pile, more blood coming out of the round hold in the back of his skull. In his little hand is a blood splattered toy train.

Thomas begins to look dizzy and is loosing footing, shouldn't I be. He is about to fall over, about to faint. I reach out a shaky arm to grab his, and keeps my friend steady. Why did this have to happen again? I start walking him away, away from the dead boy.

"There there. Its going to be alright. It's over, there was nothing you could have done."Thomas looks into my eyes, they are sad and horrified.

I feel like I'm already sick. Neither of us know how long we can afford to wait for the boys parents to return, nor are we in any condition to move the body. Why should we call the police? They're from the same faction as the killers! After talking a bit, we agree that I can wait with the boy and Thomas will go to work and do any of his shifts that I miss while here. Once he's far enough down the road, I walk over to the alley just to vomit. My throat burns, i cry in torrents, Thomas keep going down the road.

* * *

**Authors Note: This story starts four years earlier than the plot of the book, but the events of the original story will still take place.**

**I do not own the series this Fanfiction is based on, but I also don't profit from it.**


	2. Chapter 2:Late for work

**Thomas's Point of view**

* * *

After painfully struggling down the streets, I finally reach the ammunition factory where I work. The rumbling and tumbling of machinery and engines no longer bothers my ears. Once I reach the open loading dock that doubles as an entrance, I am immediately accosted by the factory overseer.

His name is Francis Powell, he's the factory bookkeeper and overseer. He's a short man with an even shorter temper. He wears blue clothes and round glasses that signify his membership in the Euridite. Though he never said so, popular consensus among the factory workers is that he's never gotten over being rejected for scientific work.

Business and management jobs are split amongst the Candor and the Euridite; narrowing the choice between a shrewd businessman and an honest one. This means that factionless can never work our way to management because of corse we can't. A factionless in a high position: that's apparently ridiculous.

"Thomas Calvin! You are late for work."

"I can explain myself, sir."

"You'll have to save it for Mr. Janders, because he wants to talk to you in his office." Then, under his breath he adds, "there will be one less rat working here after today."

I resist the urge to punch Powell and follow him through the factory and to Mr. Janders office. The factory is cramped with bullet making machinery, manned by sweat drenched factionless. Dirt covers everything, it is stuffy and hot, rats scurry around, and the whole thing is only lit by the machinery lights. These conditions are universal in factionless workplaces, and the pay is never enough to feed us, let alone pay rent. Saving up is an alien concept, as any extra money acquired goes towards repaying the titanic debt accumulated from this lifestyle. If it weren't for the food sent from the Abnegation, I and many others would have simply starved to death.

I enter the office and Powell stays outside as I close the door behind me. It is a fairly large room, its walls are striped black and white, its floor is checkered the same. His large desk is made of some sturdy see through material, maybe glass. There are filing cabinets to the sides, what is inside of them I don't know. On one side is a back door; I bet he doesn't like having to contact my kind every day.

Like most Candor, Mr. Janders is clean shaven. He is dressed in a black and white suit with a black top hat. He is bluntly honest, but of corse thats expected of his faction. However, since nobody asks about our conditions, he doesn't have to have safety features on the factory machines. At least he's not an Erudite businessman; they don't let their workers have Sundays off.

His brown eyes narrow in disgust at me and he exclaims, "Calvin, you look like hell."

"Thanks."

"Now, back to business. You were late to work. Normally I would terminate your employment immediately, but your haphazard appearance suggests a reason for this. Tell me what it is, and I will judge if it justifies being late for work."

I'm still shaken, but I must attempt to explain my self. "I - I ..."

"Would truth serum make this easier?"

I nod.

If Mr. Janders is in any way surprised by my willingness to take the serum, he doesn't show it. He opens the drawer and pulls out a syringe, his desk must be well organized if he dosen't need to look long for it. He holds the serum up, and nods for me to roll my sleeve up.

He sticks the syringe my arm and pressed the plunge down.

Everything around me disappears, nothing is here.

"Why were you late for work?"

The voice is like thunder, I feel as though the voice is in my head. I must answer, I just must!

"Lucas and I witnessed a murder."

"Is that why Lucas didn't arrive at work yet?"

"Yes, he's still waiting near the body until its family returns."

"Is he still there?"

"I don't know, but probably."

After I explain which street the murder happened, he said "Thanks for your honestly."

I feel as though I've awoken from a trance. I'm back in Mr. Janders office. The syringe is gone, he must have thrown it away.

"Due to the seriousness of the situation, I'm going to call the police."

He then punches some numbers into what I think is a phone (I can't afford one), and it begins to ring. After talking for a little bit, he is done talking.

"Police officers are coming over here to bring you in for questioning, as well as Lucas. Both of you have the rest of the day off, your jobs will still be here when you get back. You don't need to worry about pay, I'm not going to dock yours."

I nod. At least he's not cutting my pay.


	3. Chapter 3:Commute

**Lucas's Point of view**

* * *

"Yes, I am one hundred percent sure, without a doubt, the attackers were Dauntless."

The first investigator, who is also Dauntless, doesn't accept my answer just yet. "But how can you be sure?"

Really? "I saw that they were wearing black, and they had guns. What other faction fits that description? Plus, I retold what I witnessed _while under truth serum._ Five times!"

He rubs his tattoo covered temples with his fingers, "The truth serum only makes you say what you think is the truth. And the Candor also wear black."

My temper is running low after so many hours of 'questioning'. "Candor wear black AND white, the attackers were only wearing black. Plus Candor don't carry guns."

The second investigator, a Candor, nods in agreement. "Okay, assuming your statement suggests beyond reasonable doubt that the assaulters were Dauntless, do you have any way of further identifying them?"

"One was called Eric, some were as young as 13, and they looked like they had been drinking. And I sure I already told you this, as well as else everything I know."

They both left the questioning room, and I was alone in it for god knows how long. When they finally return, the Candor one speaks. "Be believe your statement. We will look into this further, but our current evidence won't be enough on its own."

When I am lead out of the Police building, I meet with Thomas in front of the buildings door. "Thomas, I'm glad to see you again. Did they question you too?"

"Yes, did your questioning convince them? Mine didn't do any good."

"I'm sure this will be the last we hear of this. They probably already shelved the investigation." The way I say this makes it sound personal, only those close to me know that it is.

I'm so angry; angry at the Dauntless for killing a baby boy and not placing any effort into his investigation, and even angrier for worse transgressions. "Is this the Factions concept of justice?"

"I guess so."

Angry and frustrated, we head to the bus stop. There is a Candor couple and an old bearded Amity man at the bus stop, this is good in that now the bus driver can't 'accidently' miss us. I try not to blame those that do, they would probably get fired for stopping for us.

The three Faction folk step slowly away from me and Lucas, its obvious they don't want to be anywhere near us. They go to great pains to look at anything but us. If a stray dog walked up to them they wouldn't have treated it like they treat us. They probably don't want to breathe the same air that has been exhaled by factionless lungs.

The bus arrives, and the door mechanically opens. I get in, followed by Lucas, followed by the faction folk; if we let them go first the bus driver would have slammed the door in our faces. We walk down the isle and grab onto one of the standing poles. There arnt any Dauntless on this bus, if they were they would take it upon themselves to 'bravely' throw us off. The people sitting down seem to shrink away from Thomas and I. Well, almost everyone.

I hear something from the seats behind me. "Beatrice, you're supposed to give your seats up for them."

Wait, factionless get to sit down? That doesn't sound right. I look behind me and see two Abnegation children, probably siblings. They both look around twelve, in four years they will pick Factions. The male one is already standing up. The blond female, who is probably the 'Beatrice' he was referring to, looks confused for five seconds before standing up and giving up her seat.

I can't decline, that would be rude. I mutter thanks, and Thomas and I sit down on the seats. I didn't look to see if my thanks made them blush, I'm so tired I just stare at the floor for a little bit. I bet it made them uncomfortable.

Imagine monks that are permitted to procreate, and you have the Abnegation Faction in a nutshell. They provide bread lines, soup kitchens, free clinics, baby safe-havens, organ donations, and are general do-gooders. They are probably the only ones who can look at a factionless man and see a human being. If they didn't run the counsel, my kind would have been sterilized or exterminated or declared city property long ago. In fact, they are the only faction I don't hate off the bat. The other four can burn in hell.

Soon, as everybody else is dropped off at their stops, Thomas and I are the only ones still on the bus besides the driver. We will soon be near our part of the city, and can then walk the rest of the way. Just three more stops.

At this bus stop, a gang of drunken Dauntless stumbles into the bus. This can't be good.

Thomas and I move to the seats at the back of the bus, hoping they won't notice us. This works for ten minutes, as they chat drunkenly and loudly for that time. However, one of them looks behind him and his eyes narrow with anger.

The black clad drunk stumbles towards me, his friends now watching. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm riding the bus."

This only makes him angrier. "Get off! This bus is for the factions, not for street rats."

Thomas lets out an annoyed sigh, "We had a rough day, can't you leave us alone? There is more than enough room on this bus for all of us. "

One of the other Dauntless observers blurts out, "Shut up, factionless. You speak when we address you."

Lucas continues, "Why does it even matter?"

The ringleader for the Dauntless gang shoves Thomas with force. "It matters because I say it does!"

He then kicks his legs so he falls to the ground. "Looks like an uppity factionless forgot he belongs on the ground, I say we remind him!"

He kicks Thomas in the stomach and I say with raised voice. "Leave him alone."

He ignores me this time, so I repeat myself with rising anger, "Leave. him. alone."

He still ignores me, and my anger is about to boil over. I clench my hands into fists, I can see the dead child in my head. I can hear the assaulters, I must act.

"I SAID LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

I deliver this message while punching him with all I have. I must have hit him with force, because he stumbles back. He rubs his nose, it is bleeding. He is now enraged.

He takes out metal wire from his pocket, saying, "Looks like we're gonna have a hanging."

I quickly pull Thomas to his feet, and we rush to the emergency exit in the back of the bus. We both shake the doors handle frantically until the door gives way. We jump out of the still moving bus, barley keeping our footing. We keep running, as we can hear the Dauntless gang behind us. We run for our lives, hoping they can't see us in the darkness. As we rush towards the first alley we see, they seem to have slowed to a fast walk.

Bang!Bang!Bang!

The loud sound of gunshot can be heard in the distance, but me and Thomas somehow make it to safety behind a dark alley in an even darker night. The thugs fire a few more bullets into the night, and then head back.

Bang!Bang!Bang!

Exhausted, both mentally and physically, we shamble to our home. It is a long way away, and we both just want to go to sleep. When we finally reach the tenant building, and climb the crumbling stair well, we reach our room. After briefly explaining why we were gone so late, we both fall asleep immediately on the cardboard beds.


	4. Chapter 4:Its personal

**Thomas's Point of view**

* * *

I pull the lever at my work station, over and over and over again. This tedium is a staple of factionless work, it combines all the boredom of repetition with the exertion of hard labor. The worst part of this is the humiliation of knowing that the bullets produced here go to Dauntless guns, allowing Dauntless to terrorize us with impunity. If there are any 'good' Dauntless, I've never met them.

I've worked in places like this since I was young, sometimes skipping school to work in some dark corner. I'd say that by my high school years, I only went to school six days a month on average. It doesn't matter anyway, I'd still be factionless no matter how well my grades were. We had to go to different schools than the Faction children, of corse their schools better quality. Erudite, Candor, Dauntless, and Amity parents have one thing in common; they don't want their children being in the same room as 'factionless trash'. As a result, I didn't get an aptitude test and I didn't get a faction. No choosing ceremony for me, only labor and hardship. I wasn't allowed to 'choose my own path'.

After working countless hours, the steam horn signals the end of the work day. We all stumble into the outside streets, the darkness of night shading us. We are all sweaty, dirt covered, soot sprinkled, and exausted. The other workers seem to be curious about where Lucas and I were yesterday.

The first one to ask is Jack, a muscular, bearded, black haired man of about twenty seven years and ten feet tall. "Where'd you two disappear to yesterday? You had us worried sick?"

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. A second attempt yields the same result. Become I can attempt a third time, Carter must have sensed my discomfort as he suggests, "Maybe we should talk about this after food."

When he says this, I suddenly remember that I haven't eaten anything in two days. My stomach groaned with a pain so suddenly noticed that I almost collapsed. We, plus several others, head down the streets until we reach what we are looking for.

We get in the rapidly growing line of factionless mouths, all waiting for the bread that will ensure we don't perish. The line ends at a stand where Abnegation folk hand out bread. The stand is in a 'courtyard', which is just a lot where an old building collapsed long ago. Most of the rubble has been pushed to the sides of the courtyard, and tables have been set up in the clearing. People clad in factionless brown sit at these tables or on the floor around them, eating. Some eat ravenously because their previous meal was too long ago, some eat slowly so as to savor every morsel and make the experience last as long as possible.

When my turn comes, I thank the Abnegation lady and receive large loaf of bread, as well as a bottle of water. I walk over to the long tables set up around the courtyard, I sit down at one that still has room. After carefully eating my bread so as to not waste a single crumb, I try to explain why Lucas and I couldn't go to work.

"We witnessed a child's murder."

Carter, who is thin and scrawny from malnutrition, looks sad. Not suprised, just sad; like how people react when a family member dies of old age.

A horrified Jack asks the obvious question, "Dauntless?"

I nod. "Who else would it be? It's like the song goes: 'the Dauntless are the cruelest of them all'."

Lucas very darkly mumbles beneath his breath, "Thank god the boy was only murdered, it's not unknown for black coats to do much worse."

Jack must not have heard the full story before, "What do you mean 'worse?' What could possibly be worse than death?"

Lucas looks furious, yet in a quiet voice he says, "Not here, I'll tell you later."

Carter fortunately asks, "Did you call the police?"

Now I get to be angry. "Yes, and they aren't gonna do anything. Faction before Blood, remember?"

Lucas is still in a dark mood, "They never do anything!"

I correct, "Never anything good, the Dauntless only know how to destroy."

After we finish eating, Jack looks at the sky, it was darkening rapidly with night. "I'd better get back soon, or else my children will wonder where I am."

"We'll walk you back, you know how dangerous it gets at night." We wouldn't want to find out that Jack was the target of 'unknown' killers. I wish I could say it didn't happen often.

I hate four of the five Factions, but hatred does not even begin to describe the feelings held by myself and several others for the Dauntless Faction. What happened with the child was not an isolated incident; too often Lucas and I find a dead body covered with bullet holes, or are asked to help in a search party for a 'missing' factionless person, or hear my sleep interrupted by bullets and wonder weather or not they are just trying to scare us. Too often I hear horror stories or help put out burning tenant buildings. It's not even safe to walk home in my own community.

We reach Jacks home: an abandoned subway tunnel that he shares with several other families. Out of the stairwell entrance to greet us come Jacks two sons.

"Daddy!" A six year old child comes running out, and jumps into Jacks arms.

"Aww, I missed you too." Then in a sterner voice, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

The child answered obliviously, "I wanted to stay up to greet you."

Jack laughs softly, before saying, "Go to bed, please."

The child nods, turns around, and drags his feet down the stairs as he goes to his bed. Jack sits down against the railing of the stairs, and Lucas and I do the same. Before Lucas can voice his anger, Jack preemptively speaks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. What they did was wrong, and not just what they did last night."

Lucas lets out a bitter sigh. "It's not your fault, it's not something I like to talk about."

Jack says, "I can understand if you don't want to talk-"

Lucas interrupts him, "I'll never want to talk about it, but it has to come out. I would like a drink, it will make things easier."

Jack goes down the stairs to the abandoned subway tunnel that he calls home, and after a few minutes he reemerges with a bottle.

Lucas downed almost half the bottle of whiskey in one continues then told us the lamentation we all know, as well as what he couldn't bring himself to tell us sober.

"When I was eight *hic*, my twin sister went missing. Wwwee looked everywhere for's her, we only found her w-when it was too late." Then, Lucas's slurred voice sank to a sorrowful mumble. "There was a bullet hole in her forehead, and she was covered in cuts."

Now, while still mournful, Lucas's drunken voice became simultaneously angry. Actually, angry would be a severe understatement. "Near the scene, we found a Dauntless knife. At first I didn't understand, but now I know; what they did wa-was ..." Lucas hesitated first, then his lips formed the word "rape".

After those last few words, Lucas said nothing and Jack and I waited. Then, in an enraged frenzy, Lucas flung the quarter empty bottle at the street. It shattered into millions of tiny glass shards, blanketing the point of impact. He then let out blood curdling screams of fury and agony in equal measure. His continues screams sound more like a feral beast than a human being, it probably woke the whole neighborhood.

"I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"

Lucas repeated this scream into the sky, trying to drown himself in his own wrath. I do not know if his hatred is pointed at his sisters killers, their whole faction, all the factions, or society as a whole. He screamed furiously, filling the air with his hatred.

"I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"

After a while, he was unable to scream anymore, as his throat had been made too sore. Tears were streaming down his face, his hands were trembling.

I thanked jack for listening, bid him goodnight, had helped my friend up. Then I lead Lucas back to the tenant where we lived. The night was still dark, hopefully there will be no trouble.


	5. Chapter 5:A helping hand

**Lucas's Point of view**

* * *

My head throbs horridly, I can feel my brain pounding. I press my hand against my forehead to quell the pain; it doesn't work. I let out a low, drawn out groan. I shouldn't drink as much as I do, but I can't drink tap water; I had to learn that the hard way.

My childhood was not a pleasant one.

"Come on Tipsy, its time to wake up!"

I blink my eyes awake, and look up. Who else should I see but my seventeen year old, red haired, pale skinned cousin. I grimace at the idea of having to bare the machinery noise under a hangover, and push myself out of bed.

"Okey Thomas, I'm ready for work."

The stupid grin on Thomas's face widens, and so does my ill-temperament. I warn him, "Knock that off or I'll clock you."

Thomas says, "Now what kind of thing is that to say on a Sunday?"

Typical Thomas, always saving the important information for last. "Why in hel-_hecks_ name didn't you say so? Come on, let's eat breakfast before going to church."

"We don't have anything for breakfast." Of corse we don't.

"Okey, let's put on our nice clothes."

"We don't have any nice cl-" I interrupt him.

"You know damn well what I mean, now get to it."

Using the one bathroom in the tenant building, we change one at a time into our 'nice clothes', a set of casual clothes only half as dirty as our regular ones. We then string up our regular clothes on the clothesline, and pour water on them. The water should drip off, and with it the dirt. We used rainwater, compliments of a rusted bucket. We then pat down our hats a little, and head out.

With us come some of our roommates/neighbors, though not all. Some don't subscribe to theology, some follow a different one, some just aren't able to, and some aren't in the mood the week. Personally, the services are much needed breaks from the drudgery, and the emotional comfort it provides also helps.

As Thomas and I walk down the broken glass littered road, we are sure to look around. I half expect trouble to pop out and shoot someone else in the head, and the sad part is that I don't have the means to stop it. Feeling powerless is a bad feeling, made worse that considerable power is held by The Enemy. I grow angry whenever I think about this, causing me to scowl. Our shoes crunch the broken glass into even smaller pieces, being ripped further.

Of corse, factionless luck seems to be in full swing today, as three Dauntless police officers are walking down the street. Shortly after I see them, their gaze focuses on their prey; us.

"You there! What are you doing here?"

I let out a sigh of annoyance as the three black clads walk towards us. If Thomas and I run, they will have a reason to chase after us and throw us in jail. Soon they are right in front of us, a look of seething disgust covers their faces when they look at us.

"Just passing through."

The biggest of the trio becomes angry. "What did you say?"

I don't know of its stupidity, or if I stopped giving a damn, but I look strait into his eyes. "I said. we're just. passing. through." I lower my voice for the last part, "and I'm not calling you 'sir'."

The Dauntless flanking the right of the ringleader snarls, "looks like you we got an uppity one here."

"Don't you have something reckless or destructive to do? Or are you going to ask for our work passes?"

Work passes are cards handed to newly employed factionless, stating who they work for, where they work, and when the card was last renewed. If a factionless adult is caught walking the streets without one, they will be 'escorted' to the nearest factory and employed there. But maybe my comment pissed them off, because now one of them punches me in the gut.

The force sends me back a bit, but I somehow manage to hold my footing. Now I'm really pissed. "What do your kind have against us? We haven't done anything to you personally, so why can't you leave us alone?You can't treat people like this!"

He kicks me between the legs, causing me to fall onto the ground. One of the lackeys shoves Thomas aside, preventing him from fighting back. I can see that several other factionless who live on the street have gathered around.

He grabs me by the throat and hisses, "We do whatever the hell we want! And you're not people." With a free hand, he punches me two more times. He has his fist back for a third, but cannot deliver it.

Shards of glass flys around his head.

I flop on the ground, only regaining my footing a few minutes later. What I see while I get up is a group of eight factionless men and women gathered around. Some hold the unconscious Dauntless patrollers, others hold wet rags that smell weard, the apparent leader holds a shattered and bloodied bottle. They must have overwhelmed the assaulters with their numbers, but what would they use rags for?

The apparent leader, a large bald man, holds out a hand to help me up. The guy looks like he can be sixty, but is obviously strong despIte both age and factionless life. Or maybe because of it?I accept it, and am back on my feet. "Are you okey?"

I don't feel okey, I still feel pain where I was kicked, and I think the area around my eye is swollen. But I'm not dead, so I nod.

He continues, "You were right, they shouldn't treat us like this."

"It's not as though much can be done about the matter?"

He says, "If we work together, maybe we can."

I look and see Thomas in the crowd, being held by two others so he doesn't fall over. The man pats my shoulders, and nods to the others. They lay the unconscious Dauntless on the sidewalk, and begin to desperate, but before they do, the leader calls back, "If you want to take a stand, come to the Hayes Warehouse at sunset tonight."

I watch them leave in various directions, until they've disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting

**Still Lucas's Point of view**

* * *

We finally reached what is known as *Five Saints cathedral. The building is an ancient construct, build of yellowish mud bricks that are now cracked and barely holding together. In front of it are three archway doors, and on top of the building are three cone shaped towers. The whole thing is old and worn, yet of better construct than most factionless homes. A relic of a bygone past, the prosperity of which has since withered away.

We were late for mass, but managed to be present for the second half. The priest was Father Malcolm, an Agnation. Wearing the standard brown monks robe, his only signifier of clergy membership is the simple wooden he wore around the neck. Malcolm was born to a well off Candor family, but both his parents died in an accident when he was only 14 years of age. He donated his inheritance and transferred to Agnation, then became a priest. He always seems to be able to see the best in people, often saying that no one is beyond redemption. He preformed my baptism, and served at my sisters funeral.

We got to listen to most of Fr. Malcolm's sermon, and the closing song. The closing song was 'O come, o come Emmanuel.'

As Thomas and I walk out from under the archway, I look up for just a moment at the mural of the five saints. Some artistic liberty might have been taken. To the far right is St. Agustine, hunched over a large holy book, wearing a long blue robe. To the far left is St. Honestus, wearing a black and white vestment. To the inner left is St. Joan of Arc, a warrior wearing black chain mail, holding a bloodied broadsword. To the inner right is St. Edgar the Peaceful, a calm looking man wearing red robes and a yellow crown. In the middle is St. Teresa, an elderly woman wearing a simple grey dress.

I don't look at the mural long, before turning to talk to Fr. Malcolm. He often stands goes to hold the door open and say goodbye to the parishioners. "Sorry I was late, I got into come trouble on the way here. "

Always concerned with others, Malcolm asks, "No need to feel bad, but are you okey?"

I nod, though my now black eye makes it clear that I'm lying. Although, having not been killed could qualify as a net positive. We chat a little more, before parting way.

Thomas and I spend the day eating at bread lines, trying in vain to clean up the messy tenant we share with several others, and relaxing while we can.

Soon, part of the sky turns orange, and the rest turns dark. The sun is setting, but Thomas and I don't go to sleep. We get up, and head to the Hayes Wharehouse. A spent the day thinking if I should, but I can afford to miss some sleep.

With some difficulty, we manage to reach the place. The metal garage door is shut, so we head to the one of the side doors. We knock, and it opens a crack.

The man holding the door looks at us for a long time, then asks, "You were not followed, were you?"

Both Thomas and I shake our heads, and the man opens the door. I must have been one of the ones who saved us.

We see a large crowd of people sitting gathered around the same man who saved Thomas and I. We find seats in the crowd, and listen to him speak.

"I would like to start by thanking everyone who came, both newcomers and old compatriots. For the former, my name is John Brutus. If you want, you can just call me Brutus

Despite the difference among us, there are two things that we hold in common to bring us together: all of us were cast off by the Faction System, and none of us are content with the lot they cast us. There is no need to sugercoat it: our lives are miserable, brutal, and short. We have only as much food as will keep us alive, and sometimes not even that. I think we all have known suffering at the hands of the Factions.

And Mrs. Parkson, you lost a son to Dauntless murderers. We all have lost children, and none of ours are safe so long as these monsters walk free. Some lost theirs to hunger, some had to surrender theirs up for adoption to save them from hunger. No matter how well their adopters treat them, we will never see them again.

Conner, you lost an arm when it was caught in an unsafe machine. It is doubtless that many have died from operating machines while Candor and Erudite reap the profits, all because the engineers refuse consider our safety. It is true for all of us: the city is powered by the sweat of our brows and yet we have only the clothes on our backs.

And Titus, is the incurable malady afflicting your skin not the result of Erudite experiments? Some of you have been condemned to this life because of failure to pass arbitrary initiation rites, or have passed and been temporarily accepted only to be turned away when age sets in, or when accidents hinder your ability to mold with the monolithic lockstep demanded by the Factions.

They not only enslave us, as well as those they claim to have accepted, but are not yet content with this. If you doubt this, let me tell you exactly what Dr. Norton, the former Erudite leader had do describe our place in society. He said that the city 'would be better off without the factionless'. Would the world be better without our parents and children and ourselves? No! It would not be, and they have no right to the decision! Not only are we just as much human as the Faction folk, I prefer the company of yourselves to any among the Factions! You accepted each other where the factions shunned us, we formed together a community that the factions try to claim we are without. They try to enslave us, but we have never lost our humanity.

Now, we will not be slaves much longer, the time will come when we can cast off the shackles of oppression. If we should overthrow the Factions, than our troubles would be all but erased overnight. Food packaged and canned by factionless men and women would feed the factionless, they would no longer feed Dauntless Cowards while factionless starve. I do not know when, but I only know this: we must never allow ourselves to become the monsters we fight. Stand strong, and the Factions _will_ fall."

By the time his speech ended, up roaring applauds are erupting from the crowd and all in it. Myself included. I feel energized and invigorated, ready to take on the world. Brutus simply waited patiently until the cheers of support died down.

Once it almost did, he continued, " Even if we don't know when our uprising shall begin, we will need to prepare for it in any way we can. We will start by stockpiling what we will need for this undertaking, and recruiting more factionless men and women to our cause. If anyone should need to learn more about our fight, just feel free to ask me. If I can not be reached, Evelyn, Titus, Minimus, or Aazim can also answer your questions. They are trusted and deviated to our noble cause, so I assure you they can be trusted."

As the crowd disperses and its people go to set up trashcan fires or lie down, Brutus walks up to me, "I'm glad you,chose to come, we could use someone like you."

"I don't see what you mean."

"You stood up to the Dauntless, you don't accept the system of castes."

"Well, let's just say its personal."

We talked some more, Thomas chatted with one if the other fellow rebels. The more I talk and listen, the more I feel that change may actually come to our lives. I am tired of being hungry and despised, I am tired of being outcast. I'm sure I'm not alone in this assumption. Something must be done.

* * *

*St. Nicholas Ukrainian Catholic Cathedral


	7. Chapter 7:Training

**Thomas'**** point of View**

* * *

The rare moments of spare time I had over the past few weeks are spent training with some melee weapons, and rarely with a handgun. Lucas and I somehow managed to convince some of our friends and coworkers to join us. I, and a few others, occasionally manage to obtain handfuls of bullets from work without the boss finding out.

Every night, John Brutus finds more followers listening to his speeches. Every day, our muscles develop and our ability to hold our own in a fight is less laughable. Since some of the other rebels work in the canneries or food packagers, we have more food to go around. I am missing less meals, my strength is building up, and I am sure I am not the only one for whom this is true.

Lucas is proving himself to be a formidable warrior, showing the ability to hold his own in a melee well enough and has talent with a gun. Jack is able to use a gun himself, but spends more time teaching and babysitting the children. Carter is less than useless with a gun, but has the remarkable ability to smuggle bullets out of the factory and can swing a bludgeon as though it was second nature.

I on the other hand can not even manage to control my guns recoil, let alone shoot it. A thin and nervous man, I can barely hold my fists steady in a fight. But luck was always against me, I have had to fight an uphill battle for all seventeen years of my life.

Right now, I am training, just like I have been every day for the past few weeks. I shoot at a crudely painted target on the wall of an abandoned building, for Brutus's rebellion has more than one meeting ground. As I shoot at the target, I try to hit it. The gun recoils and the bullet flies off in some unknown direction. I grumble at my own uselessness, thinking no one else will hear.

Brutus proves this assumption wrong by saying, "You will be able to handle that gun soon enough, even I had trouble shooting upon first attempt."

"But I have been practicing every day for weeks and my shot is still as poor as on day one."

He walks up next to me, "Well, let's look at your form."

I raise my gun to shoot, and am already doing something wrong. "No, no, your legs are too close together. Keep some space between them, but not too much."

I adjust my legs until Brutus nods that they are in the right stance. I raise my gun again, "Hold the gun firm with both arms, it will help with the recoil."

I tighten the grip on my gun until my knuckles turn white, "Not that tight, you still need to be able to aim it."

After adjusting my grip on my gun until it is satisfactory, I raise it to aim at the target. "Keep your arms strait. And hold the gun at a right angle from your shoulders."

I comply, and aim at the target. I wait a few moments, then I fire. The bullet hits the crude bullseye if the target, to my suprise. Brutus is not suprised, and only says "Good job, there may be a place for you yet. Noe see how many times you can do that in a row."

As he leaves to check on some of the others, he motioned for someone to come here. His appearance is ... interesting. His dark skin is covered with tattoos and scars in equal measure, His black hair looks as though he tore chunks of it out in a fit of rage. He has to use a makeshift cane when he walks, I assume it is because of his mangles and twisted left leg. He smiles when Brutus introduces him, and I can see that his teeth were filed into fang like points.

Brutus pats the man on the shoulder as he introduces him"This is Aazim Masood, he is one of my four closest allies. He will teach you everything he knows about shooting a gun."

Aazim says jokingly, "Even if I know very little."

Brutus laughs, "Don't sell yourself short. " Then, to me he says, "Aazim once shot a perfect bullseye, then shot a second bullet _into the back of the first one_."

Aazim shakes his head, "Everything sounds impressive when you say it like that."

Brutus digresses, "Aazim, this is ... this is ..." He is gesticulating in an attempt to recall an unknown name.

I put him out of his misery, "Thomas Calvin. And don't worry, I couldn't expect you to remember my name before I tell you it."

Brutus laughs heartily, then leaves to where he is needed, saying "You two have fun."

As I shoot bullets with the method Brutus showed me, Aazim simply nods or says 'good' when I hit the mark. When my gun runs out of bullets, and I have none in my pocket, we talk a little more.

"So, when did you join the rebellion?"

"I was with Brutus from almost the beginning, so five years maybe."

"What made you want to join? I mean, were you also simply tired of being oppressed or is it personal?"

Aazim's suddenly became dark. All he said was, "Lets just say I realized who the real enemy was."

After practicing for the rest of the day, I am less useless with a gun. Maybe in a year I will be actually confident with one.


End file.
